


The 7 Days of Halloween Challenge

by mrua7



Series: Strange, scary stories and the Man from U.N.C.L.E. [48]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Angels, Challenge Response, Death, Demons, Devils, Gen, Ghosts, Halloween, Monsters, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Near Death Experiences, Scary, Spies & Secret Agents, Spooky, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2019-01-22 14:48:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12484088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrua7/pseuds/mrua7
Summary: 7 stories based on 7 individual prompts for the 7 Days of Halloween Challenge in Section VII- Live Journal. The responses can be a short story, or a long one,  drabbles, a paragraph, or even a poem.





	1. Chapter 1

     Chapter 1: "Tit for Tat" 

 

 

The door to April Dancer’s apartment opened slowly with a long, slow high-pitched creak. It was excruciating to Napoleon as the sound gave him the shivers.

Once the door opened he and Illya were greeted by a strange sight; instead of Dancer’s usually over the top party decorations for her annual Halloween party, the place was empty.

Well not quite empty, sitting motionless on four chair were what looked like mannequins, clothed in long period piece floor length dresses. Another odd feature was the fact that they appeared to be partially bald, as if the tops of their heads had been shaved, while the rest of their noggin’s were covered with long flowing hair.  One was a redhead, then a brunette, the next one was a blonde and the last had black hair.

Neither agent was dressed in a costume, as was their usual custom since they were merely stopping in for a drink or two before departing to JFK for an overseas assignment.

Initially Napoleon was pleased as he wouldn’t have to deal with another of Illya’s Halloween costume tricks. One year Kuryakin managed to create a walking robotic skeleton, convincing Solo it was the Russian...but it wasn't, then another year he showed up as a cat burglar in a plain black mask and his usual turtleneck and black suit...while at the same time he appeared in a grey werewolf costume. There was also the time he dressed as Emperor Napoleon along with everyone else at the party (knowing that Solo was coming as Bonaparte)*

Of course the wily Russian denied they were his tricks, and that frustrated Napoleon to no end.

“Please tell me this isn’t one of your crazy illusions tovarisch?” Napoleon scratched his head.

“I am standing right here beside you, not wearing a costume as we both agreed…”

“Then how do you explain that?” Napoleon pointed to the quartet of ...well, whatever they were?

“I cannot, nor can I explain April’s absence, as well as that of any other guests. As you recall, her parties are always well attended. To use one of your phrases my friend...this is giving me the willies.”

“Appropriate word usage my dear Kuryakin. Well, should we go inside or should we leave? I’m not feeling very comfortable with this either.”

“Since there are no signs of food or drink, I vote to leave.”

Napoleon laughed,”Leave it to you to focus on that.”

Illya merely shrugged, but unexpectedly his eyes opened wide in disbelief. He raised his hand, pointing at the four figures.

They'd risen from their chairs, with their arms extended in front of themselves and slowly they began to shuffle towards Solo and Kuryakin.

“Cyborgs?” Napoleon blurted out. “Not again!”

Unlike the fembots from ‘The Do-it-yourself-Dreadful Affair” these things now moved quickly, and charged towards the agents.

The two men immediately drew their guns and fired, well...attempted to fire. Nothing happened when they pulled the triggers.

The redheaded bot grabbed Solo by the throat, and he immediately collapsed, having had the life choked out of him. His body fell to the floor with a dull thud.

Illya scrambled backwards, falling to the floor; he attempted to scuttle away crablike, from the killer cyborgs.

As he got to his feet he continued to move backwards, trying to put some distance between himself and the cyborgs. Suddenly he felt a pair of powerful arms envelop him, pinning his own arms as he squirmed to free himself.

“Arrrrrgh!” He cried out, helpless.

Napoleon stood up, his face red as he burst out laughing so hard that tears were running down his cheeks.

“Finally, got you!”

The red haired cyborg pulled off a mask, revealing the face of April Dancer.

The other cyborgs removed their masks one by one, and it was Mark Slate who’d pinned Illya’s arms.

“Not funny!” Kuryakin blurted out, his nostrils flaring in anger.

“Think of it as payback for all the tricks you’ve pulled on us.”

“Fine, ha ha. So you got me...but tell me one thing if the four cyborgs were April, Wanda, Lisa Rogers and Mark, then who is that?” Illya pointed to another person standing at the other end of the hallway.

Dressed just like the others, this unknown fembot walked slowly towards them, its arms raised with open, claw like hands reaching for them.

“April, who else was in on this?” Napoleon asked.

“Just the five of us darling.The rest of the guests aren’t due to arrive for another forty-five minutes. Hey, who may I ask are you?” She called to the newest addition.

It said nothing, and began moving its hands in clawing motions, seemingly preparing to attack.

“I don’t know about you, but I think we should get out of here mates,” Mark said.

They all took off down the hall, and took the emergency stairs... that was everyone except Kuryakin who stood apparently mesmerized.

He suddenly broke into a huge grin. “Well done Heather!”

She pulled off her mask, and held out her free hand. “Hey Illya a deal is a deal; you owe me twenty bucks.”

He pulled out his wallet and withdrew the bill “Thank you, it was a job well done, and well worth the money.”

“Hey, how did you find out they were going to prank you?”

“That my dear will always be a secret,” he winked. He offered his arm to her, escorting her downstairs to let the others know that he’d got them again... 

 

* ref to "Trick or Treat" "A trick or two up a Russian's sleeve" and "Costume Planning"


	2. Is there a heaven or hell?

  


  


Solo and Kuryakin had hidden themselves behind a wide fluted marble column; both were dressed in black, with grease paint on their faces. They blended into the shadows created by candle light in the deconsecrated Catholic church, St. Anthony of Padua.  Ironically he was the patron saint of lost souls, and surely that’s what the UNCLE agents were witnessing with this gathering of what looked like clergymen.

It was rare that a Roman Catholic church would lose its consecration, mostly in the case of the building itself being damaged or destroyed, or if a local bishop reduced the building to what was called ‘profane use.’ St. Anthony's however, was intact, with only the altar, statuary and other things having been removed. It was an empty shell with only the church pews remaining.

Napoleon knew this as he'd been raised raised Catholic and what he was seeing gave new meaning to the word profane.  
  
Oddly what looked like a bishop (at least dressed like one) and apparently several other of similar rank were seated in the front pews, behind them sat a large number of men dressed in black cassocks and white linen surplices. Some of these faces the agents recognized as members of T.H.R.U.S.H.

“Speaking in Latin, the bishop chanted,” In Nomine Magni Dei Nostri Satanas introibo ad altare Domini Inferi.”

The others responded “ Ad Eum Qui laetificat Meum.”

“Adjutorium nostrum in nomine Domini Inferi,” the bishop called out. Again the gathering responded as one,” Qui regit terram.”

Illya whispered ever so softly,“Napoleon I have a bit of knowledge when it comes to Catholic rituals and some latin, but this does not sound right.”

“That’s because this isn’t Catholic...it, and I can’t believe I’m witnessing it, is a Black Mass.”

“What the devil is that?”Illya whispered.

“That’s exactly right tovarisch, this is devil worship...satanic. The rituals parody those of the Roman Catholic Mass.  What was just said roughly, though their latin isn’t grammatically correct, is ‘In the name of our great god Satan, go to the altar of hell. To him who brings joy unto me. Our help is in the name of the infernal. The earth rules."

Solo was quite troubled, “Looks like our feathered friends are branching out into a new nest. I better tell Waverly.”

As the ritual prayers went on, Illya stayed put and continued to observe while Napoleon disappeared outside to call headquarters.

Kuryakin watched in disbelief as the eyes of the participants in the ritual suddenly began to glow, perhaps reflecting the candlelight the way a cat’s eyes would? Still, it was most unnatural.  
  
Several men circled a large wooden table, holding thruibles which were metal cencers suspended from chains in which incense was burning. Clouds of it filled the air, and that was Illya’s downfall, as he could no longer hold back a sneeze.

_“Achoo!”_

The glowing eyes turned, all focusing on him, and before he could draw his gun from his shoulder holster, the crowd rushed him.

They dragged him up the marble steps to the table where the church’s altar had once stood.

“Defiler!” The bishop shouted, pointing a boney finger at the Russian.

Illya was lifted to the makeshift altar, and made to lie down on his back, his outspread arms and legs held fast by four supplicants.

“That’s Illya Kuryakin, an U.N.C.L.E. agent!” One of them shouted.” Where he goes, his partner Napoleon Solo is sure to be nearby!”

“Search the church!” The bishop ordered.

After obeying, they found nothing.

“You are alone?” The bishop grabbed Illya by his hair, yanking it hard.

“Yes.”

“Do you believe in the christian god Mr. Kuryakin?”  
  
“No.”

“Then why not join us? Satan will welcome you into the fold.”

“I think not,” Illya deadpanned, "as I do not believe in him either."

The man slammed Illya’s head back against the table. “Very well then, you will be our blood sacrifice, “the bishop drew a long curved dagger from beneath his robes, holding it in the air above the Russian’s chest.

“Who rules the earth?” The bishop called to his flock.

“He rules the earth!” They called back.

The bishop continued,"Lord Satan is your country, The world and all it contains. Justice and luxury of your throne. The rulers were seated and spoke against me: and the wicked persecuted me.”

“Help me, lord, my god, “they all responded.

“Guard me, lord, from the hands of the wicked, and from unjust rescue me.”

“Lord Satan, you quicken us," They answered in response.

“O Satan go from strength. And my people shall rejoice in thee.”

The bishop raised the dagger higher, preparing to bring it down and end the life of Illya Kuryakin.

Gunshots rang out, echoing throughout the church; the dagger wielding bishop and the four men holding Illya dropped to the floor around the table; the dagger clattering down the marble steps.

“Illya vstat'!” Napoleon shouted in Russian for him to get up.

Kuryakin did so, standing on the table, and just like out of an Errol Flynn movie, Napoleon Solo swooped down from a mezzanine while holding onto a rope.

He grabbed his partner, and the momentum carried them across to the balcony on opposite side of the church, though they just made it over the railing

A few gunshots rang out from below, but most of the robed men began scattering. With their leader dead, many were in a panic.

Napoleon returned fire, driving them towards the exit of the church.

Outside they were greeted by armed U.N.C.L.E. agents, and New York city police.  The robed men were loaded into paddy wagons to be taken downtown for questioning. The known Thrushies among them were rounded up, taken into custody by the agents.

Solo and Kuryakin returned to headquarters, and were now seated in Alexander Waverly’s conference room. They each had towels in their hands, provided by Lisa Rogers, and were wiping the black grease paint from their faces.

“This is an unusual dilemma we face gentlemen. With T.H.R.U.S.H. infiltrating satanic cults, they will have access to new recruits for their nefarious plots, no doubt.”

“And we’ll dismantle these cults one at a time if we have to,” Napoleon said.

"I'm afraid it won't be quite that easy young man. These satanic organizations, many of which were founded by one Anton Lavey, who is an American occultist and author, are spreading. Scholars of religion have classified it as a new religious movement and a form of Western esotercism it's but one of several different movements that describe themselves as forms of Satanism. Lavey's ideas are heavily influenced by the concepts and writings of Nietzshe and Rand. As such, these so called churches, many of which are independent of Lavey, are considered legitimate and protected by the First Amendment of the U.S. Constition, and therefore UNCLE cannot interfere with them."

“Then what will happen to the people who were arrested tonight?” Illya asked.

“Ahhh,” Waverly smiled knowingly,” since there was an attempted ritual murder...that is with you Mr. Kuryakin, a crime was committed. Those in attendance will be considered accessories as none of them tried to stop your execution...sacrifice, or whatever the devil you would call it. “

Waverly stopped himself, realizing his poor choice of words.

“Yes sir, I appreciate Mr. Solo’s timely and rather dramatic rescue,” Illya nodded.

“Hey I always wanted to do that, you know drop down on a rope and liberate a damsel in distress, but you had to do I suppose,” Napoleon winked before grinning.

“Please Mr. Solo, refrain from your jocularity, this is serious business. I’m afraid we just might have to create a new division to oversee these cults as it were, just in the event T.H.R.U.S.H. decides to continue their infiltration.”

“Agreed,” Napoleon said.”If you don’t mind sir, if we're finished...Mr. Kuryakin and I would liked to get cleaned up?”

“Oh yes, quite,” Waverly picked up his pipe.” I will expect your written reports tomorrow. Dismissed.

The partners exited the conference room side by side, heading to the locker room showers downstairs in the gymnasium.

“Napoleon, while you were gone from the church something strange happened. Something I cannot explain.”

“What’s that?”

“The people there...their eyes all began to glow, iridescent like cat’s eyes. Could this group truly be in touch with the devil?”

“The devil? I thought I heard you say when you were pinned on that altar that you didn’t believe in Satan.”

“I did say that yes.”

“Wait, so if you don’t believe then why the question that these people are in touch with Beelzebub?”

Illya deadpanned, not willing to admit to anything.”It was just a hypothetical question and nothing more.”

“Yeah right, “ Napoleon clapped a hand on his partner’s shoulder, “and I’m the King of Spain.”

“Napoleon what the devil are you going on about?”

“There you go, using that vernacular makes me think you do believe in a heaven and a hell; in God and the devil.”

Kuryakin simply clicked his tongue… 


	3. Sangre(blood)

 

  
  
  
Napoleon and Illya, after finishing up some loose ends on their latest assignment in Mexico City, were graciously granted a few days off at UNCLE’s expense, by Mr. Waverly. Though Accounting usually balked at such gestures, the CCO periodically liked to reward his agents for a job well done.

“He couldn’t give us paid time off when we were in Tahiti two weeks ago?” Napoleon grumbled.

“For once I might agree with you as our current location is not the most exciting,” Illya said.”Other than hitting a few of the nearby cantinas for meals, there is little else to do except have drinks at our hotel bar.”

“Hmmm, yes. Oddly, there seems to be a lack of pretty señoritas in the immediate vicinity,” Napoleon added. “I suppose we could go do some sightseeing?”

Kuryakin’s jaw dropped. “You want to go see the sights instead of trolling for women? Napoleon are you unwell?”

“I’m fine, just not in the mood. Maybe a change of pace and scenery will do me some good.”

Illya pulled a travel brochure from his suit pocket. “Well since you asked, I was hoping to see the ruins of Tenochtitlan before our return to New York.”

“That's the capital of the Aztec empire until it was captured by the Spanish Conquistadors,"Solo chimed in.

“Napoleon, I am impressed.”

“Hey, I can read travel brochures too, tovarisch.”Solo winked.

“Then you would like to go?”

“Like? Not really, but heck why not? Nothing wrong with taking in a little of the local history, makes you a more well rounded person,” Napoleon smiled.

“Who are you and what have you done with my partner?”

“Come on I’m not that bad...am I?”

“My friend, since I have known you, your pastime has been nothing but girl chasing.”

“Yeah, I guess I have a one track mind don’t I?”

“No arguments from me there; so it is settled, we go see  the archaeological dig of Tenochtitlan. I will ring up for room service and have them prepare a boxed lunch for us as I am sure there will be no where to eat near the ruins.”

“Wait, it’s a dig?” Napoleon tried to hid his surprise.

“I see you merely skimmed the brochure,” Illya drew it from his pocket again. “The Aztec city was only discovered recently when Mexico city was building a subway, they found remains of the Aztec empire - such as a old temple, it is located in the middle of Lake Texcoco.”

“Thank you for the history lesson Professor, and by the way, you have a bit of a one track mind yourself as you’re already thinking of food.”

The Russian chuckled.” No arguments from me there either.”

After picking up their lunches which consisted of ham and cheese sandwiches, hard boiled eggs and a small cooler containing a few cold cervezas, (knowing to avoid drinking the water) they took their rented jeep and headed out.

Illya was behind the wheel, lest Napoleon’s lack of a sense of direction... led them astray. Conversely, the American’s acumen was always spot on.

It wasn’t that long a drive to the site, which upon arrival, they found quite desolate.

“No tour guides, “Napoleon said as they headed towards a tall stepped pyramid- like temple.  “I would presume the archeologists are taking the day off.”

The place was surprisingly vast, and that was when the decided to sit and eat their lunch and quench their thirst with some of the beer before ascending the temple.

“Millions of people lived in the Aztec Empire,”Illya said,” though eventually they were conquered by Hernando Cortes. When the Spaniards arrived in Tenochtitlan, the Aztec leader Montezuma and his people greeted them as honored guests according to Aztec custom, partially due to Cortes’ physical resemblance to the light-skinned god Quetzalcoatl, whose return was prophesied in Aztec legend.”

“Though the natives had superior numbers, their weapons were primitive and Cortes was able to immediately take Montezuma and his entourage of lords hostage, gaining control of Tenochtitlan. The Spaniards then murdered thousands of Aztec nobles during a ritual dance ceremony, and Montezuma died under uncertain circumstances while in custody.”

His young nephew Cuauhtemoc, took over as emperor and the Aztecs drove the Spaniards from the city. With the help of the Aztecs’ native rivals, Cortes mounted an offensive, finally defeating Cuauhtemoc’s resistance in 1521. In all, it is estimated that some 240,000 people died in the city’s conquest, which effectively ended the Aztec civilization. After his victory, Cortes razed Tenochtitlan and built Mexico City on its ruins.”

“How do you know all this tovarisch? I know you didn't get this out of that brochure. Wait, you don’t have to answer that, I know; you just read a lot.”

Illya merely shrugged.

“I read too, I just don’t have the same areas of interest as you...which come to think of it, is everything,” Solo laughed.

“Yes, Napoleon you are a well read man and you prefer the classics. My reading preferences are more eclectic. You also forget my friend, I have an eidetic memory and recall nearly everything I read.”

“Which has come in handy, I'll admit. I do remember reading somewhere that the Aztecs had human sacrifice and offered up their victims, which were usually prisoners of war, to their gods.

“Yes their religious ideology dictated human sacrifice in order to placate the sun god and prevent the rise of darkness and the end of the world. Their method of sacrificial murder was the removal of the heart; The victim was stretched out over the sacrificial stone high up on the temple.  A priest with an obsidian knife broke open his chest and ripped out his still beating heart, dashing it against the sacrificial stone. The Aztecs believed that they owed everything to the gods who created themselves as well as the world around them. They would perform sacrifices for a good crop yield or good weather among other things and believed that the best way to repay them was to offer up blood to them in regular rituals. It has been estimated that a few thousand people would have been sacrificed each year. After the ritual, the bodies of the victims were often kicked or otherwise thrown down the steps of this temple. Something else more morbid tool place; while maize and beans provided essential nutrients, they had to be eaten in great quantities,which was not always possible. That is when they turned toward human meat.

“Cannibalism?”

“It has been surmised, though there is no proof positive.

“Sheesh.” Napoleon looked at his half eaten sandwich, and suddenly lost his appetite. He rewrapped it and tucked it in the cooler with the rest of the beer. Looking up at the sky, he realized that it had suddenly become somewhat foreboding. Dark clouds had rolled in, blotting out the sun

“Bad storm is coming Illya.”

 

 

Seconds later there was a loud thunderclap, confirming that fact. It became like night and the sky opened up, sending the agents running into a lower entrance at the base of the pyramid to escape the rain.

They shook the water from their khaki jackets; had it not been for this entryway, they would have been drenched. It was a torrential downpour with quite vilent the thunder and lightning.

“Damn,” Napoleon cursed,”the jeep is going to be soaked.

Illya pulled a small flashlight from his pocket. “Well let us do a little exploring while we wait for the storm to blow over, da?”

Together they carefully walked beneath the pyramid until they came to a large room. Without warning the room light filled the room, as torches on the surrounding walls burst into flame.

“I have a bad feeling about this, “Napoleon said.

“As do I. Time to make a hasty retreat.”

They turned but the tunnel down which they’d just walked was blocked by a large stone that rumbled into place.

_**“Boom-da-da Boom-da-da Boom da-da Boom…**_ ” The sounds of drums echoed around them.

Out of the shadows the figure of a dark haired woman wearing a feathered headdress and what looked like Aztec style clothing appeared.  At first she was transparent, until she solidified.

She swayed and danced to the beat of the drums, as she approached them, Napoleon in his typical manner, greeted her.

“Hello there, the name’s Solo, Napoleon Solo.”

She stared at him with seemingly blank eyes and that was when he switched to Spanish.

“Hola, el nombre es Solo, Napoleón Solo.”

She ignored him and turned to Illya, bowing low before him.

That was the last thing Napoleon remembered. When he woke he was laying on the ground in the same room, but what he saw, he couldn’t believe.

Illya was sitting on what looked like a throne made of carved stones. He was nearly naked, dressed only in a leopard loincloth. Adorning his neck was a turquoise bib, and on his head was an Aztec headpiece with long bright feathers. There was a golden figure of a serpent encircling his brow. Napoleon also saw that blood was trickling down his partner’s throat from two small puncture wounds.”

“Illya what the hell is going on?”

Kuryakin didn’t respond, and seemed to be in a trance. His blue eyes seemed more green now, looking like they belonged to a serpent.

The woman who’d appeared to them earlier was suddenly there and stepped in front of Solo, Her arms raised above her head like an animal about to attack. She opened her mouth and hissed at him, revealing a pair of long fangs. She snarled like that of a big cat.

“Whoa!” Napoleon hand went immediately to his gun. Drawing it, he aimed it at the creature...as surely she wasn’t a real woman.

Again she hissed. “You will not speak to the god Quetzalcoatl.” She pointed towards the pale skinned Kuryakin; her lips didn’t move, though Napoleon heard the words just the same...telepathy?

“Firstly, he’s not your god, he’s my friend and he’s leaving here with me.”

She roared, diving at Napoleon, sending him backwards and down to the ground. Her mouth opened wider, like a great gaping maw as she snapped at him, intending to bite his throat. She was turning into a giant jaguar.

Solo tried pushing her away, and in the struggle his gun went off. No sleep dart, it was a live round that went straight into her heart.

An was an echoing wail bounced off the walls, before the catwoman faded away into nothingness.

Napoleon pulled himself up, dusting himself off as he called to his partner.

“Illya!”

Kuryakin’s eyes began to blink, and as he returned to his senses he removed the crown from his head. His eyes were drawn to his near nakedness.

“Napoleon what is this? What is going on?” He reached up, touching his hand to his throat, and it came away bloodied.

“I’ll tell you once we get the hell out of here.”

Illya rose, but sank to his knees, apparently weak from the loss of blood. Solo helped him to his feet, holding onto the Russian as they made their way out via the corridor that was no longer blocked.

Once outside, the sun was shining.  As soon as they stepped into the light Illya’s clothes reappeared, as if he’d never been out of them, though the collar of his khaki shirt was blood stained.

They made it to the jeep, and sitting in the soggy seats. Solo taking the wheel, started the engine, and they took off like a bat out of hell, returning to the hotel in record time.

Twenty-four hours later Illya was recovered and they both agreed it was time to cut their little vacation short and return to New York, and they’d say nothing of what had happened to them at Tenochtitlan.

The one thing that dawned on them after the fact, that the date when this bizarre occurrence took place was that it was Halloween.  Not that one had anything to do with the other, but it did seem a coincidence.

 

  
            **A blond haired Quetzalcoatl**

  



	4. It came in the night

 

On a lonely road in the falling rain, they it saw clear as can be,

a Chrysler Imperial from decades past, moving quickly on the team.

 

It glowed like a spectre in the night barreling down the road,

with no one there behind the wheel, if ever truth be told.

 

"Run!" Solo called to Illya, and together they ran their race.

It was gaining quickly upon them, as they couldn't keep up the pace.

 

First the Russian fell, tripping and rolling to the ground.

Napoleon stopped to help him. Yet the car made not a sound.

 

The UNCLE agents held their breath as death had finally come.

They turned their heads, it was too late. They both could no longer run.

 

The headlights shone in the darkness, blinding the two men's eyes,

and just as suddenly as it came upon them, it continued driving by.

 

The ghost car it disappeared, off into the Halloween night,

but not before it gave our two heroes one unforgettable fright.

.

Napoleon and Illya slowly, pulled themselves up to their feet,

realizing they were now both covered in slime, an ectoplasmic treat.

 

As Solo wiped the goop from his face, he smiled in spite of the mess.

"I'm glad this was an old suit, and not one of my usual best."

 

"True true perhaps," Kuryakin said,"though Waverly will not let it fly,

another suit ruined by a ghostly car that merely passed us by?"


	5. The Deal

 

 

The heat was oppressive, almost hellish as Napoleon Solo trudged through the sand, while keeping along a line of dunes.  His feet were feeling heavier and heavier, lifting them one excruciating step after another became an unbearable task, until he could go no farther.

 Stopping, he just stood there in a daze, ignoring the sun as it slowly set. 

Napoleon looked up, seeing something strange in the distance that drew his attention;  it was a ring of fire seemingly suspended in the air above a valley.

“A mirage? Was he seeing things? No, the sun causes mirages, but it was sinking below the horizon. Civilization? Had he made it?” 

Napoleon wiped the sweat from his brow as the salt in it was stinging his eyes, as well as his sunburned skin. 

“When did he last have a drink of water? Where was Illya? Wasn’t he with me?” Solo asked himself.” He wouldn’t have been able to stand this heat, and with that pale skin of his...he would have fried under the sun.”

“Oh my God, was Illya dead somewhere, wherever this was? He couldn’t remember how or where this journey had started or why, and wasn’t sure if Kuryakin had even been with him.

“No, he was, Illya was with me. I’m sure of it!” Napoleon reassured himself. 

His brief respite gave him a modicum of strength, and with the waning of the sun…  
  
“No that’s not right, “he muttered.”Waning has to do with the moon.” 

As the sun finally set, he expected the merciless heat to cease, as temperatures in the desert usually dropped at night, but that wasn’t the case. It remained brutally hot, and it was becoming more so the closer he moved towards the ring of fire.

Once he had a clear view of it, Napoleon was horrified at what he saw. 

It was people, the ring consisted peope, each one suspended in a separate pillar of fire, writhing in agony in the flames, though they made no sound.

_“Welcome Napoleon Antony Solo,_ ” a voice spoke ever so softly.

He wasn’t sure where it came from; it was neither male or female from the sound of it.

“Who are you?”

“ _My name is not important right now. I have been waiting for you.”_ The voice changed, becoming like a thousand whispers.

“Waiting for me? For what and if you won’t tell me who you are, then tell me where I am, if you don’t mind.”

“ _You’re an intelligent man Napoleon, can you not figure it out? Take a guess_.”

“I don’t like guessing, I like to have the facts.”

The voice laughed, this time it was deep and basso sound that echoed into the sky.

_“Very well, though I thought better of you. You see Napoleon Solo this is hell, and you are about to join us here, body and soul.”_

“No, not possible!”

_“Oh but it is. You grew up within the Catholic church, they drill it into you of the existence of hell, did they not? Wait? Did you think you’re going to that other place...Elysium, the one reserved for heroes.”_

“You mean heaven.”

_“Tsk. Yes ‘that’ place.”_ The voice now annoyed, was suddenly behind him and Napoleon spun round, but there was no one there.

_“How could you think that? Did you not spend all those years murdering people? First it was in Korea and then it was with U.N.C.L.E, and in your killing frenzies did not innocent people died as well? And then of course there was that libido of yours... all those women you fucked again and again. Some might call it rape, though you never did, you rationalized it of course.”_

“It was war and I served my country. I did my duty both then and with U.N.C.L.E. for the greater good in order to save the world and mankind from maniacs who…”

It suddenly dawned on Napoleon with whom he was conversing. Part of him didn’t want to believe it, yet deep down he knew it to be true.

“Maniacs who served you, and ...and I never raped a woman. I never took a woman against her will, ever! Sex was always consensual. They wanted it as did I.”

_“Ahh, did they really want it, or did you charm them into it? Did you seduce them into bed time and again with your wicked sexual ways? Wild unbridled debauchery, that’s what it was. Lies lies lies Napoleon, you were so good at lying that you forgot what it was like to tell the truth.”_

“Nooooo! This isn’t real! You aren’t real!” Napoleon grabbed his head with his hands as it was now pounding, feeling like it was going to explode.

_“I am real. Do you not believe in heaven?”_  
  
“Yes I do. I believe in God, I believe in forgiveness and redemption.”

  _“Then you must believe in me and in hell. There cannot be one without the other. I am going to give you a choice Napoleon...a get out of hell card so to speak.”_

Solo canted his head,” I’m listening, though I doubt I’ll make a deal with the devil.”

  _“Haaaahahaaaa!”_ The laughter filled the air and seemed as though it was many of voices.” _So you finally admit that I am real.”_

“Just for argument’s sake I will, for the moment. So what’s the deal?”

_“A choice, a very simple one.”_

“I’m listening.”

_“You may leave here if someone else takes your place and carries your sins….say this man.”_   
  


__

 

Lucifer materialized. Black hair, pale... lithe, looking like both a male and a female. In his arms was the naked body of Illya Kuryakin, the devil's tattered wing fluttering beneath him...Lucifer was after all, a fallen angel. The sky had turned purple and was with filled with strange looking birds... no not birds, demons.

“Illya!” Napoleon tried to rush to his partner, and free him from the devil's grasp, but invisible hands held him in place.

_“Yes it is he. This man is guilty of as many sins as you are, perhaps even more. He is a cold-hearted killer, an assassin who murdered more than you in the name of U.N.C.L.E. Though he was not obsessed as as you when it came to screwing women...still, he did his share. He did rape that girl, that innocent young girl. Remember, he confessed it to you when he became drunk enough." *_

“He was forced to rape her!” Napoleon shot back. “He did it under the belief that doing so would save her life. The Vory V Zakone murdered her anyway.* They tricked him, as all they wanted to do was humiliate her before she died, and force Illya to show his supposed loyalty to them. He was undercover!” *

“Kuryakin’s words,’W _e do things in this business that we are not proud of._ ’ It sounded just like Illya's voice.

“ _He knew he committed a most egregious sin and for that he will suffer and for his many other sins as well as those of yours. If you let him take yours as his own? Then you are free to return to the world of the living, with a new lease on life as it were..”_ The devil’s voice suddenly reminded Solo of Alexander Waverly 

Napoleon dropped to his hands and knees. How could he do this to Illya...yet the idea of this get out of jail card tugged at him. He didn’t want to spend eternity in the fires of hell. He truly believed he didn’t deserve it; he was one of the good guys.  Yet this was Illya, his partner, best friend...no, a man who was his brother and who had saved him time and again.

 “And you’re offering him the same deal?” 

“No.”

Solo became silent, lost in thought.

_“Well do you accept?_ ” Lucifer crooned. “Think of all the women just waiting with open arms, or should I say open legs?”

Napoleon smiled. “I have a proposal of my own...if you take me and let him go then I’m yours,” Napoleon sighed. "I'll carry his sins for him."  
  
He couldn’t leave Illya to suffer on his account.

Lucifer howled, shrieking in anger. His face contorted, and his eyes grew bright red, his gaping mouth filled with vicious fangs dripping with blood.

_“A sacrifice? Nooooooo!”_ He seethed. The devil's deal had backfired as willing sacrifice freed both Solo and Kuryakin from a lifetime of torment in hell.  
  
 _“Go! Though I will be waiting for the both of you...eventually you’ll be mine!”_  
  
"I don't think so," Napoleon said.

 

_._

Solo's eyes fluttered open, though he squinted at the bright light.

“Oh thank God!” A woman standing beside him spoke; her long auburn hair cascading down to her shoulders. She was dressed in white, and looked like an angel.

“Where am I? Is this heaven?" Napoleon whispered.

“Heaven? No, You’re in Medical you silly goose,” April answered.” You’ve been out of it for days, moaning and groaning while you were burning up with a high fever. Mr. Waverly was here, but he just left. He’s been worried sick about the two of you.” 

“Two of us...Illya?”

“He’s here and out of it as well with fever. Whatever T.H.R.U.S.H. gave you both this time has had the doctors stumped.” She pointed to Kuryakin in the next bed.

“He’s all right?”

“Napoleon?” Illya called out; his voice nearly hoarse as he too had just woken. “We are safe?"

“Apparently.” Napoleon called back as he rolled to his side to face his partner.

“I dreamt we were in hell, and…”

“Don’t say anymore tovarisch.”

Illya couldn’t help himself. “It seemed so real Napoleon. You were willing to make a deal with the d'yavol...devil, sacrifcing yourself to free me.”

“I know.”

“You do?” Kuryakin looked confused.

“I had the same dream.”

“Okay boys, now you’ve got me worried,” April said. “What are you going on about?

“Nothing,” they answered in unison, both looking like the cat that had just eaten the mouse.

“Just drug addled hallucinations,” Illya added.

“I don’t know, this sounds a bit spooky to me," April said. "It’s All Hallow’s Eve, the time of year when the veil between the world of the living and the dead is at its thinnest. Strange things have been know to happen. Either that or it was one hell of a drug they gave you."

“Don't say hell April, “Napoleon cringed. He refused to give her any explanation as to what he and Illya were talking about.

Best it remained their little secret, otherwise they would be destined for a padded room in the psychiatric ward at Bellevue Hospital...

  
  
  
.  
  


*Vory V Zakone- the elite of the Russian criminals, like mafia, but not.

 

[*ref to “What troubles the heart” ](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10043884/1/What-troubles-the-heart)

 


	6. The Road

# 

 

Illya Kuryakin was behind the the wheel as the designated driver for Alexander Waverly's sedan. Solo sat in the front passenger seat, while the Old Man dozed off in the rear.

It had been long trip, after an even longer meeting and they were finally headed back to New York, hoping to make it to headquarters before dark. Not that it mattered, but t was Halloween. April Dancer's annual party had been cancelled as she and her partner were on assignment in Paris.

It was dreary, overcast and the trees were leaves were beginning to fall from the trees, though there was still a bit of drab color left on their branches.

The car was being driven on Carlyle Road, a quiet winding stretch of scenery roughly forty miles northwest of New York city.

It was in a quiet corner of northwest New Jersey, not far from the hustle and bustle of Manhattan, but the road itself wasn’t near anything in particular. Houses were far and few between

The motor pool at headquarters had supplied the map and plotted thiw route back to New York, deeming it sufficiently off the beaten path and safe from any sort of ambush.

Still the sedan was equipped with machine guns, several rocket launchers, bullet proof windows, not to mention the Command’s two best agents to escort Waverly home.

Solo fidgeted with the radio, hoping to tune in a news broadcast when it went dead, no static ...nothing, nada.  
  
"Wasn't this car just overhauled?" He asked.

“Yes it was," Illya said. "Perhaps this is one of the weird occurrences known to happen on this particular stretch of road.”

“Weird? What exactly does that mean?” Napoleon asked.

“Oh, I did a little reading up on the location once we were had been given the route; the lands around it has gained notoriety over the years as an area rife with legends of paranormal occurrences such as sightings of ghosts strange creatures, and gatherings of witches, Satanists, and even the Ku Lux Klan. It is also rumored that professional killers dispose of bodies of their victims in the surrounding woods.”.

Napoleon's head did a slow turn, staring incredulously at his partner.

“And you’re just telling me this now? How could such a route have been planned for Mister Waverly? It doesn’t sound exactly safe.”

“Only ten miles or so of the road are rumored be where these things take place. Of course none of it is true Napoleon, it is just superstition, urban folklore and nothing more.”

“Illya, Illya,” Napoleon clicked his tongue.”When are you going to accept that there are things that go bump in the night? Not that the KKK and professional killers are supernatural. Still, haven’t we had enough strange and inexplicable things happen to us over the years to make you believe?"”

“There was no reasonable explanation for those occurrences, I will admit. I am still a pragmatist, so until I…” For a millisecond Illya looked at his partner.

“Watch out!” Napoleon grabbed the steering wheel forcing the car to swerve while Illya instinctively hit the brakes.

There was a woman standing in the middle of the road, but it was too late, and the car went right into her.

There was no crash, no sudden thud of a body against metal.

Illya brought the car to a screeching halt, and both men turned to see...nothing. No one was there, no crumpled body lying in the road.

“Perhaps she was thrown?” Illya said.”I will look…”

“No,” Napoleon drew his weapon. “You stay behind the wheel and keep the car running. I’ll check in case it was some sort of ruse. And lock the door after me.”

He exited the car, waiting to move until he heard the lock click shut. Looking left and right, he saw nothing as he eyed the woods. Checking the front of the car, there was no damage, no sign of an accident. There was no sign of a an injured person anywhere.”

Napoleon turned and taking a little skip, he returned to the door, tapping on the window.

Once inside, his gun safely returned to its holster, “There was no one out there….Illya we did both see a woman in the road, didn’t we? She was pale, with long dark hair and wearing a blue checkered dress."

“To be honest, I saw nothing but a bit of mist. You grabbed the wheel on me so that was a bit distracting.”  


Solo couldn’t help but snap at his partner. “So you’re denying it.”

“Denying what? I saw nothing.”

They heard a snort from the back seat, and suddenly remembered Waverly had been sleeping there. Oddly the Old Man, who never seemed to ever sleep, was sleeping rather soundly. So much so that the voices of the agents nor the screeching of the car to a halt, disturbed him at all.

“Lucky for us he’s a sound sleeper...when he sleeps,” this time Napoleon whispered.

Kuryakin rolled his eyes as he put the car into gear, continuing down the road again, moving slowly as a heavy fog had appeared out of nowhere.

Napoleon peered through the windshield, watching out for anything, and for a second he swore he saw a pair of glowing red eyes. As quickly as he thought he saw them, they were gone. He presumed it was just his imagination. The incident with the woman who wasn't there had him a bit jittery.

As the fog cleared, the radio  came back to life, startling both men, but surprisingly Waverly remained undisturbedThe channels kept changing as if an unseen had were turning the dial, and just as suddenly, it went dead again.

“Must be a faulty wire,” Illya said. His attention was drawn to the rearview mirror. “We have company, and it is driving a little too close for comfort.”

Solo turned around, observing a black pickup truck with its headlights on tailgating the sedan.

“Speed up.” He ordered.

Illya gave it the gas and as the car accelerated, the pickup stayed right with them.

“Punch it!” Napoleon said.

“I am flooring it already! I recall there is a very dangerous part of the road coming up, called Dead Man’s Curve. Napoleon hang on, I am going to try something before we reach it.”  


Kuryakin grabbed the hand brake, and at the same time he pinned the steering wheel, spinning the car around. It should have brought them facing the rear of the truck, but when Illya completed the maneuver the black pickup truck was nowhere to be seen.

 _“Chto, chyort voz'mi?”_ Illya swore in Russian. “Are we losing our minds?”

“Well at least this time we both saw it. Tovarisch, let’s get the hell out of here. The sooner we’re back in the city, the happier I’ll be.” Napoleon glanced at Waverly, checking to see that he was still breathing.

“Is he all right?” Illya asked.

Solo gave a shrug. “Apparently so, he's sleeping like a baby.”

“If that were the case, he would have woken, would he not?”

“No, they say babies experience a very deep and restful sleep,” Napoleon said.

“I find that hard to believe that an infant, much less an adult man could sleep through what just happened."

“Okay, so he slept like a...log. Okay?"

“Napoleon, a log is an inanimate object and incapable of slumber.”

“Will you give it a rest?” Napoleon moaned.

The Russian chuckled, knowing he had annoyed his partner as usual, while feigning ignorance.

 **“BOOM!”** That sound reverberated through the car, followed by a whooshing, and finally a repeated flapping noise.

Illya struggled to control the wheel as he brought the car to a stop.

“Damn!” It was Napoleon’s turn to swear. “Of all places to have a blowout.”

Both men got out of the car and indeed verified that one of the tires had indeed blown. It was as flat as a pancake.

Illya volunteered to do the dirty work while Napoleon stood guard.

“Should we wake him?” Kuryakin pointed to their boss.

“Nah, if he slept through that, the man can sleep through anything. I guess sleeping like this is why he never needs to nod off at headquarters?”

Illya merely shrugged and went on about the business of changing the tire. He opened the trunk, removing the spare as well as the lug wrench and the jack.

The car had come to a stop on a stone bridge that crossed over a small body of water. It was a shallow brook; Napoleon felt there was no danger of any sort of watercraft sneaking up on them, much less a black pickup truck.

Solo leaned against the railing, enabling him to look left and right along the road, keeping an eye out as best he could. Still, he kept his Special at the ready, just in case.

Kuryakin hustled to change the tire, as he was feeling just as uneasy as his partner and quickly had the car up on the jack and removed the flat in record time.

Napoleon, for a split second turned to face the water and that’s when he felt it. Something struck him in the face.

“Illya!”

The Russian dashed around the car with his weapon drawn, and both men ducked down before peeking over the bridge railing.

Below in the water, a pair of hands reached upwards in a plea for help.

“Someone’s drowning...stay here, I’ll go!”Solo shouted.

He scrambled down to the water’s edge, but when he got there, he saw nothing. Could the person have gone under?  Upon closer examination, the water was too shallow. He followed the current as it flowed beneath the bridge, still there was no sign of a body but he spotted something disturbing. It was a white mask lying on one of the rocks.

 

 

 

 

That gave him the willies, and he immediately headed back to the car, relieved to see that Illya was still there, as was Waverly; both safe and sound.

“Too late?” Kuryakin asked.

“No one was there, but I did see a creepy white...well it looked like a death mask lying beneath the bridge.”

**“PING!”**

Owww!” Something struck Solo again on the side of the head, but this time it bounced onto to the road. It was a penny, a very old, wet penny.

“What the hell?” He looked out over the water but saw nothing.

Another coin struck Kuryakin on the forehead. “If you do not stop, I have a gun and I will use it!” He shouted.

A coin pelted the door of the car, followed by another.

Quickly the two agents finished with the tire and climbed back into the car, started it and took off. An hour later they were in the secure parking garage at headquarters in New York.

“Sir, Mr. Waverly,” Napoleon called as he opened the rear door, leaning into the back and tapping the man on the shoulder.

“Wot...oh beg pardon, I must have dozed off. Are we at headquarters?”

“Yes sir,”Illya answered.

“Excellent driving Mr.Kuryakin, a smooth ride all the way.”

The agents looked each other in the eye, each fighting back a smile.  
.

The next morning Illya was walking down the corridor, heading to his office, as usual with his nose buried in a file.

The pneumatic doors opened with a quiet whoosh. “Oh you are here, good.” He spoke Napoleon who was seated at his desk, thumbing through his little black book.

“I did research on that Carlyle Road and apparently the things that happened to us are well documented in the local legends, more than I expected. The woman in the road, the mysterious fog, the phantom truck and the bridge...apparently is called ‘the ghost boy bridge. Supposedly a young boy drowned in the water. The lore is that he throws coins at people on the bridge, or recovers coins left between the lane lines at midnight, or on some days the spirit has been known to push people in the water.’ These incidents are among a plethora of happenings in that ten mile stretch of road."

“Now you believe me tovarisch?”Napoleon smiled. “Here you have proof, some of which you experienced yourself.”

“I still withhold judgement until there are hard facts to prove otherwise.”

“One of these days something is going to happen to scare the bejesus out of you, and you’ll believe.”

“Napoleon what is the meaning of this ‘bejesus’?”

“Really? You’ve never heard that before? You're not pulling my leg again are you?"

“No, I have not, and why would I have need to pull your leg...you are not trapped, are you?"

Solo pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers as he shook his head.  
  
“You know what...never mind.”  
  
,

#    


A/N: This was inspired by the legends of [“Clinton Road](https://www.atlasobscura.com/articles/highway-to-hell-a-journey-down-americas-most-haunted-road), in West Mlford NJ. Supposedly the most haunted road in America, involving ghosts, the Jersey Devil, druids, the KKK, a ghost truck, a red eyed man, cannibals...the list goes on and on. All this taking place in only a 10 mile stretch.

 


	7. A Walk in the Park

 

A group of off duty agents decided to hit a bar after signing out of headquarters, not that they were ever truly off duty as a Section II could be called in for an assignment at anytime.

No one was permitted to be unavailable unless they were ill, or away on vacation...but then again if an assignment cropped up in their getaway location, well there went the vacation.

Drinking was something these people did, many of them smoked cigarettes too, for some it was for pleasure but for others it was a means to relaxing. Life as a Section II agent was stressful, not that they didn’t know that when they signed on for field work; it was just accepted as part of the job.

It was a small, but not an exclusive group of men who headed out to bar hop. Section II agents weren’t snobs by any means and would drink with anyone, especially if anyone was willing to pay for said drinks.

It seemed a good number of the agents were always short on cash for varying reasons, foremost among them was Napoleon Solo; he was always borrowing cash from his rather frugal partner to finance his extensive dating schedule.

Tonight the crowd consisted of Solo and Kuryakin, Mark Slate, Kit Kittredge, George Dennell and a few of the people from the Communications Section. It was actually mischief night, the night before Halloween, but the only mischief these men were interested in was drinking.

Everyone was looking forward to April Dancer’s annual party, and tonight’s adventure into inebriation was just a warmup.

The drinks and cigarettes accompanied by bad jokes and long stories continued into the wee hours until their numbers dwindled to just a few as they ended up at the bar in the Carlyle Hotel, near Central Park.

At this point they all had a pretty good buzz going, although looking at the Russian, noone could never guess it.

Illya appeared unchanged, and spoke like he was as sober as a judge.

After the last Solo pun had been uttered, Mark decided he needed some fresh air, even though the Brit could hold his liquor with the best of them...that last glass of gin went down a bit rough.

“I’ll beeee backkk mates. Jus’ going out for a bit o’ fresh air.”

“Careful Mark,” Illya said,” remember it is the night before Halloween and there might be some mischief makers lurking about.”

“Hey guv, I’m a NUNCLE agen’ remember,” Slate opened his jacket, pointing to his gun. “Plenty sleep darts on ‘and.” His accent had gotten quite thick at this point.

Once outside Slate lit up a fag, and decided to head to nearby Central Park. That would get him away from the noise of the city, as well as the exhaust from the buses and taxis, putting him into a more relaxing natural green setting.

New York, like London was busy no matter what the time of night, but he knew the park would be peaceful.

As Mark walked along, he discovered that at night the park wasn’t green at all. Everything was veiled in black and grey.

Just a little bit disappointed, he continued his stroll, still puffing away on his cigarette as the sounds of the city began to fade.

“Hooo-hoo, hooo-hooo.” An owl called from the trees.

That was the only thing he could hear now other than his own footsteps.

“Caw Caw Caw!” A crow flapped its wings, landing on the back of a nearby bench; it was joined by another and another until their calls created an annoying din.

“Bloody ‘ell birds! Shoo! Go find another bench somewheres else will you?”

Mark waved his arms, scattering the birds as they fluttered off into the night sky until they blended into the darkness.

He flopped onto the bench, fully intending to just relax when he heard footsteps coming towards him.  Slate reached for his shoulder holster, resting his hand on his gun just in case. Tossing down the last of his cigarette, he snuffed it out with his shoe as he waited.

The lights illuminating the path weren’t very bright. He couldn’t see a thing and squinted ...straining to see who belonged to those footfalls.  

They came and went, though there was no physical body attached to them.

That gave Mark the shivers for a split second before he rationalized them away.

“Maybe the gin is making you go blind you ponce,” he mumbled to himself  


A chill wind blew, and pulling up his jacket collar Slate decided he’d had enough of communing with nature. The view just wasn’t that pleasant anyway.

It was time to go back to the bar and rejoin the lads.

As he walked along the dimly lit pathway, he heard the footsteps again, this time behind him and he spun round.

“Who’s there? Show yourself. I have a gun and know how to use it mate.” His adrenaline had kicked in, and had a sobering effect on the Brit.

No one. If it was a mugger, the talk of the gun might have scared him off. Still, Mark quickened his pace.

“Hoo hoo hooo!” Caw Caw Caw!” The bird calls now seemed to surround him and he immediately thought of Hitchcock’s movie, ’The Birds.’

Suddenly there was a rustling coming from a nearby bush.

“All right mate, show yourself right now!” Mark shouted.

No one.

“Jesus, I must be daft. Nothing there but my silly imagination.”

He heard the rustling again, though this time he convinced himself it was nothing but the wind.

As he took a step forward Mark found himself coming face to face spider web. “Plah, plah! Yuck!” He finally freed himself of it with his hands. “Enough of this!”

Once he reached the exit to the park, Mark breathed a long sigh of relief as the Carlyle was but three minutes walk away.

He decided that was it for the drink tonight; maybe he’d have a nice hot cup of tea instead. Nothing like a good cuppa to soothe the nerves.

“Rustle-Rustle, drag-drag, Rustle…””

This time Mark distinctly saw a bush move and it wasn’t from the wind. He drew his gun but an unseen hand knocked it from him.

The bush grew taller, suddenly flying towards him and Mark let out a bloodcurdling shriek.

Napoleon revealed himself with a loud ‘BOO’ and nearly fell down laughing; he was joined by Illya who was standing behind Mark, holding the Brit’s gun.

George Dennell appeared from the darkness. “Caw Caw!

Kit let out a “Hooo hoooo!”

“Not funny you blokes, somebody could have gotten hurt,” Mark snarled.

“Which is why I relieved you of your weapon,” Illya chimed in.

“Mark?” Napoleon was still laughing,” Did anyone ever tell you that you scream like a girl?”

“Do not! Now if you tossers will excuse me, I’m going to go sober up with some tea and biscuits. Care to join me?”

“Sounds like a plan, “Napoleon brushed the twigs and leaves from his clothing.

“Good, “ Mark smiled because you’re paying mate for what you did to me.”

“I told you he would not like this Napoleon,”Illya whispered.

“Yes you did tovarisch, but you went along with it didn’t you?”

“Who am I to get in the way of one of your pranks. At least for once I was not the target.” Kuryakin winked.

“Well since I’m paying, I vote we take a taxi to McSorley’s Old Ale House; the kitchen is still open there.”

At that exact moment Napoleon’s communicator began to warble; he quickly assembled it and answered.

“Solo here.”

“Yes Mr. Solo.”It was Waverly.” Would you and Mr. Kuryakin...he is with you correct?

“Yes sir, as are Mr. Slate, Mr. Kittredge as well as George Dennell.”

“Oh well, I suppose I don’t want to ask what you’re doing together this time of night. I need you to proceed into Central Park as there have been some disturbances that one would classify as unusual. The police are in the process of patrolling the perimeter, and have asked for our help in covering the interior southern section of the park.”

“What sort of disturbances sir,” Illya spoke up.

“There have been complaints about shrubbery seemingly coming to life and chasing people, as well as odd bird calls in the vicinity of the incidents.”

“Oh?” Napoleon said. There was a very pregnant pause.

“Yes, you are in Central Park, are you not? I’ll expect your report at the conclusion of the investigation. Waverly out.”

Solo disassembled his communicator, tucking it into his inside breast pocket.

“How does he know these things?” He mumbled. “This takes his ‘knows all and sees all' to new heights.”

 

Napoleon looked up, realizing the others were giving him the stink eye.

“Here now, you’ve gone and ruined our night out mate,” Kit grumbled.

“Hey it wasn’t me, I swear. Scouts honor,” Napoleon raised his hands as he proclaimed his innocence. “I just did it now with you Mark, that was it. Illya, Kit... George we’ve been together the whole time, haven't we?”

“Gosh, he’s right,” Dennell said.”So does that mean there’s more pranksters in the park or could there real haunted bushes? A could it be new THRUSH plot?”

“Guess we better go and find out,” Napoleon sighed. ”Sleep darts everyone, just in case.”

“Napoleon should we really accept this assignment?” Mark asked. ”We’re all pretty wankered.”

“Speak for yourself Mark,” Illya said.” No self respect (he hiccuped)...respecting Russian gets drunk on Vodka, which is what I was drinking.”

“And plenty  of it but yeah right, you ought to know as seeing how you're Russian,”Mark winked, but decided to placate Illya. No need to give the man a perceived insult and most likely pay the price later.

“Maybe not completely drunk, but we’ve all been drinking enough,” the Brit said.

“Mark,” Solo raised an index finger to make a point.” One does not tell Alexander Waverly ‘no’ when it comes to an assignment. The fact that we’ve been drinking will mean we’ll all suffer in the morning with hangovers.”

Illya chimed in,”Again I say, speak for yourself. I suggest, since we have been indeed consuming enough alcohol, that we remain even more vigilant and be on our toes.”

“That goes without saying,” George said.” Gee fellas, since I’m here, can I come along? I mean even though I’m not a field agent, I can probably help somehow.”

Napoleon scrunched up his mouth for a moment. “Aw heck why not? Come on George.”

As the men from U.N.C.L.E. fanned out, George Dennell grinned from ear to ear.

“Here we are the four musketeers off to do battle with the evil doers, well four plus me that is.”

“Yeah mate, a bunch of haunted bushes,” Mark laughed.

As they reached the area where the incidents had taken place, the agents fanned out, moving carefully in the darkness, while George walked alone, acting as the bait.

He wasn’t exactly happy about his assignment, but heck if any field agent could do this...so could he, he hoped?

Ten minutes went by and nothing...fifteen, twenty minutes.

George continued to walk slowly, but paused to speak to Napoleon who was hiding in the nearby bushes.

“I don’t think this is working. Maybe it was just…”

A bush moved and completely enveloped Dennell. There was a loud, blood curdling shriek as it disappeared into the night, leaving George sitting on his rear, looking bewildered and a bit shaken.

The others rushed to his aide.

“Good golly! I thought I was talking to Napoleon when a bush just attacked me. Did you hear that sound, it came from the bush...it was pretty frightening. Say where is Napoleon anyway?”

“Good question,”Illya said. He pulled his communicator, adjusting it to track his partner’s comm device. It began beeping immediately.

“This way,” Kuryakin pointed.  

The signal  strengthened as they moved closer, until they arrived at the eleven foot tall bronze statue of Alice in Wonderland. It was surrounded by the Mad Hatter, the White Rabbit and a few of her other friends

Standing near to it was Napoleon, his gun drawn and aimed at a large bush that had a pair of raised arms protruding from it. There were two others on either side of it also with raised arms sticking out in the air.

A voice came from the bush directly in front of Solo. “Please Mister don’t shoot. We was only playing a joke, you know a little Halloween mischief.”

Mark, Kit, Illya and George unmasked the pranksters revealing that it was three boys all dressed in black clothing.  They’d made their bush costumes out of fishnet, branches and leaves, and had been perfectly camouflaged.

Minutes later the police arrived, led by one Sergeant Mike O’Toole, who immediately recognized one the boys.

“Thomas Francis McGinty! How many times do I have to deal with you. Yer in a deep bit of trouble now lad, and yer friends too!”

"You obviously know this boy,” Napoleon said.”What sort of punishment are he and the others facing.”

"And who might you be?"

"My name is Solo, Napoleon Solo," he flashed his yellow UNCLE ID card.

The police officer detected the strong odor of alcohol in the air coming from Solo and the others, but said nothing.

“McGinty is me sister’s boy, but that doesn’t matter. It’s juvenile court fer him and his friends.”

Solo looked at Illya, who in turn looked at Mark, who looked at Kit, and he looked at George. They were all impressed with the level of sophistication with which the boys had disguised themselves. Solo’s improvised attempt was pitiful compared to what these boys had made...though it was obvious they’d put time and effort into their camouflaged costumes.

Napoleon finally spoke.“Sergeant, this was only a bit of youthful mischief. Perhaps we could do something to channel their creativity rather than relegating them to the courts where they’ll end up with a juvenile arrest record, and possibly incarceration.”

“I’m listening,” Sergeant O’Toole leaned in.

A week later, young McGinty, his friends Paulie and Junior were in the UNCLE warehouse located down by the East River. The were tasked with helping develop camouflage ideas and disguises for use by agents in the field, and were being paid to boot.

That kept them off the streets, busy and making money...which made their parents and Sergeant O’Toole quite happy.

Their young minds brought quite an innovative approach to their task, and what they came up with surprised even the best of UNCLE engineers.

It was an all’s well that ends well situation, though unbeknownst to Napoleon and the others, Mark Slate was still plotting his revenge for that Halloween prank...


End file.
